


Demon's Head

by fadinglove



Category: DCU
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Hurt Bruce Wayne, M/M, Ninja, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Bruce Wayne, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2018-11-03 21:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10975710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadinglove/pseuds/fadinglove
Summary: Damian Wayne resulted from a night of rape. When Talia Al Ghul resurfaces, Bruce must face his own painful memories and save the League from uncertain danger at the hands of Ra's Al Ghul. But in the end, he still may not save what is most important.(abandoned work, sorry)





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Damian _Wayne."_  Robin snarls fiercely, glaring at his mother. Bruce is reminded of himself, of the fiery spirit and untempered rage he used to be.

"This isn't working." He swiftly dodges the slicing dagger of a veiled warrior, and flips back as two more approach. Even with the entire League assembled, they're still outnumbered, and not with mindless beasts to slay, either. They're fighting trained people, skilled in the arts of deflecting power and inflicting blows. Bruce knows exactly who's sent them, but since the purpose eludes him and no one familiar has shown their face yet, he decides to sit on that bit of information. "We need to double back, regroup. We're overwhelmed and there doesn't seem to be a stop in sight."

"I think we're doing just swell," Hal's overbearing tone sounds over the comms, and Batman looks to his left just in time to see Hal knock one unconscious with an interesting construct before another jumps onto his back, testing his balance. He almost rolls his eyes. In a blink of an eye, Bruce melts into the nearest shadows and silently makes his way behind a large crate. Thank God it's nighttime.

"I'm in agreement with Batman," Clark says, and Bruce feels an annoying pleasure, at the agreement. "Neither side is making progress."

Bruce can hear him, and he looks up, armored body pressed tight against the rough wood of the box, containing God knows what. Superman is laying waste to scores of warriors at a time, although none of them seem to be seriously injured as a result. He knows Clark would never. A reluctant but relieved chorus of agreements begins to sound over the comms; they've won them over. 

Batman contemplates the meaning of this. The warriors fight with a style and grace that belie his own training; there's cunningness in every sidestep, hidden power unleashed in every blow, smooth movement to every shift of the light feet. They are all humans, faces hidden, except for eyes that peer emotionlessly through the masks. They have been trained and beaten down and carefully shaped by one teacher and one teacher only.

He knows, without a doubt, who. 

Pain explodes just below his ribs, flaring up in a defiant voice, willing to be heard, and he's strong enough not to make any noise. The knife seems to have slipped through the plates of armor through a crack, but it was a well-placed slice, though it didn't reach any vital organs, from what he can feel. Bruce immediately relocates his position and turns his face towards his attacker, keeping his body as shielded as possible, letting the cape quickly settle over him.

His eyes betray no shock at the sight of Talia Al Ghul. Or rather, what he can see of her in the darkness, the glint of her eyes and light reflecting off a few single strands of hair. She's smiling cruelly. Belatedly, Bruce realizes his instinct of protecting the body was something he learned from Ra's Al Ghul. And he also realizes that Talia's well-executed cut could only have been from Ra's, too.

She moves her arm, and he only sees the shimmer of a long, carved sword, advancing again. Bruce throws all his weight into a clumsy push that sends her flying from her spot, through the air and as far away from the crate as possible. He hears no thump, because she would never allow herself an uncontrolled fall. Only a delicate balance that rights itself as she flips herself upright before landing.

Batman emerges from the back of the crate and sees Talia in the spot of moonlight on the barren ground, one hand raised in a silent command. The entire site of the abandoned warehouse is eerily quiet except for a few lost sounds, like Hal's heavy breathing and the rustle of Clark's cape. Every veiled warrior has stopped moving at the sight of their current leader, frozen into place but away from any nearby superhero.

He ignores the tweaking pain in his side. "Talia," he snarls, and he hears the light flutter of Robin's cape before he lands in front of him, body tense. Talia's eyes widen at the sight of her son, though she makes no movements, in a form-fitting black suit and fiery hair spilling down over her shoulders. Bruce can't remember why his eyes were ever drawn to her.  

"What the hell? Who's this chick?" Hal glows brightly twenty feet in the air, looking down in bewilderment. Barry zooms to a stop, not daring to intrude upon the invisible circle that Bruce and Talia seem to have made, encircling each other in tight rope. 

"It's Talia Al Ghul," Cyborg confirms with a whir of his gear, speaking through the comms. He's not in sight. "Daughter of Ra's Al Ghul. Although I've no idea what she's doing here, or what she plans to do."

Bruce wants to agree, and yet he doesn't. He knows everything about Talia and her twisted family tree, but he knows nothing of her intentions and desires. And deep down, he fears that she's here to take away the one thing he has never had control over. No wind disturbs them, and her eyes bore into him with a knowing finality and sick amusement. Batman clenches his fist and wills Robin to back away, come to him, look away from this woman.

"Talia," he growls. "Why did Ra's send you? What could he possibly be after now?"

She pouts, ridiculously. He sees every curve of her body, the tight hips and flared waist, the defined lines of her breasts, straining through the suit. Yet Bruce feels only a mild disgust, and pounding fear. He also feels the rising confusion of the League, at the confrontation between them, looking personal. Clandestine. A puzzle with a missing piece. What are they missing? His heartbeat rises, ever so slightly.

"Batman, the hit you took looks bad." That's Clark's confused voice, with an underlying tone expressing something Bruce is too distracted to quite identify. "I think it's best if we-"

"Why do you presume that Ra's sent me? Can't I do anything for myself?" Her voice is low, sultry, lips unmarked but plump. 

"These are men of Ra's," Bruce notes, "And you've always been loyal to him." He is sure, now, of what she's here for. And what worse timing, with the League fully gathered and watching, unaware of just another one of his secrets. Waiting and watching in dawning realization. The tension is thick, he can taste it, and so can Robin, taut as a loaded bow. He knows she's-

"I am here to take my son home." Talia looks, then, for the first time, at Damian. "It was going to happen sooner or later." Another smile. "But I preferred sooner."

The devastating words hit home, and somebody actually gasps. "Wait- that means- you and her-" Barry swivels his head at an alarming speed from Bruce to Talia, jaw agape and eyes wide. 

Clark finishes, "Damian is Talia's son? He's Damian Al Ghul?"

"Damian _Wayne."_ Robin snarls fiercely, glaring at his mother. Bruce is reminded of himself, of the fiery spirit and untempered rage he used to be. "I won't be by your side. Ever. I choose to stay here, with Father."

"You don't belong here." And Talia doesn't sound like an evil villain or seductive liar. She sounds like a tired mother saying things that she has scolded to a child over and over and over again, as if it's an overly simple concept that Damian just doesn't understand yet. But there's always a deceptive undertone flowing freely through her voice, reminding Bruce of her tricks and old ways. How she is a master at deception, second only to Ra's, and perhaps to himself, if he ever chose to make a career out of sneaky half-truths.

Damian Wayne holds his mother in high resolve, no matter what comes spitting out of her mouth. And he wavers.

Bruce sharpens. "Damian, come here." His voice leaves no room for argument, and although taking orders is the last thing Robin has ever liked to do, this time he turns to walk to Batman's side, head cast down and eyes not visible. He feels a surge of protectiveness, for this boy (who is still a boy), his son, his crime-fighting trainee, who was torn from everything he was brought up to believe and expected to keep the new morals without question.

He knows it's much, much harder than that.

"Leave and take your slaves with you," Batman snarls. "There's nothing and no one for you here. Everything is staying as is. And tell Ra's that if there's something he wants, he's welcome to take it up with me himself, or he can be damn sure nothing's going to take."

Talia hasn't come close to losing her composure, at all. She seems entirely unruffled, as if she didn't just try and stab Batman and then demand her son back only for him to refuse and return to his father. She was expecting this, then. Perhaps her words were all merely a ploy, something to get Bruce riled up and to bait him. 

And he'd completely fallen for it. 

Her expression is one of disinterest. "I have what I need." She glares at Damian. "And it's not you, ungrateful brat. What would your grandfather say if he saw you like this, gifting criminals with punishment over death and working alongside gods that have never known humanity, or oppression?" Her lip curls. "Vile. This is what has become of the Al Ghul line, once a respected and cherished family... Now, only shame."

"I suggest," Batman ignores the tweaking pain in his side, "you stop talking bullshit. Leave."

"You're the criminals," says Damian, and then he's quiet.

Talia Al Ghul stares at her son, and makes another silent command that has the warriors moving again, as fluid and graceful as they were in fight. But this time they retreat into shadows, into dark places back to where they came from. And she leads them. "I'll be back," she smiles, and her eyes are like flint. 

"Sure as hell hope not," Hal voices as he hovers down to the ground, and Bruce is reminded of the entire League's presence and their watchful eyes. 

The shocking appearance of Talia had ripped the skin from his bones, knocked the breath out of him, slowly torn his heart out of his chest only to strip it bare of flesh. Now Bruce regains himself, and Damian is a quiet cyclone of dark thoughts and heavy feelings churning mercilessly beside him. And all his team can do is gawk and scratch their heads.

"You never told me," Clark says, and there's worry, hurt, confusion, concern in his blue eyes and the downturn of his mouth. He is drifting down to the ground slowly, barely aware of the movement, feet finally meeting the asphalt in silence. "You never told me Damian was an Al Ghul."

Bruce feels sharp irritation at the _me_ in Superman's words, the way that he assumed there was closeness between them, closeness and unbreakable trust. The way he's hurt because Bruce had chosen to keep something hidden, something that was none of his business and never would have been until now. There is no infallible trust and closeness and he's mistaken. Bruce feels acid on his tongue.

"I am a Wayne." Robin is fire and the last thing Bruce ever wants is for him to die out too quickly. "Just like how you are an alien. Simple." 

God, but he's tired. "Stop." Bruce turns, adding in a softer tone, "Go home, Damian."

The resolve seems to soften ever so slightly in Robin's face, although he could just be imagining it, but then Damian is starting to move-

"How long have _you_ known?" Clark's voice rings loudly. The League is silent. Damian stops.

_Since I met him,_ Bruce wants to spit out, but he doesn't. 

"Why didn't you tell the League?" Clark pushes.

_"This_ is why." Batman snarls angrily; he's crossed the tipping point. The tension around everyone is oozing at an all-time high. "Because I knew that as soon as you found out about Damian's heritage you would question his loyalties." Pause. _"And mine."_

Clark's eyes widen. "Bruce, that's not what-"

"We're done here." Bruce turns, drawing his cape around him with devastating effect. Alfred would have one nasty wound to dress at the Manor. "Good night." And he's slipping away, Damian at his heels, while he summons the mobile to his coordinates.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter plot is similar to the tower of babel comics storyline (that was later made into justice league: doom), where ra's steals batman's contingency plans to compromise every jl league member.

Hal Jordan is afraid of the dark. 

It seems ironic because he is, after all, a guardian of outer space; where nothing but pitch black exists for miles and dead stars circle around every square inch of dark matter. Often times there is no light in space, and while it is depicted as a beautifully shining land of twinkling stars and speeding planets with burning suns, most of it is empty. Dark, so dark, the kind of black only seen in space. 

But Hal is a Green Lantern, and their light shines through the darkness like no other power, blazing endlessly and always with a light never dampened. There are many things he loves about being a Lantern and one of the reasons is the light. He brings joy and salvation to suffering beings like an emerald angel from the heavens, enriched with the fire he has been granted, illuminating galaxies. 

He himself is a beacon of light, so it is never dark, for he lights up the world. And when the light is taken from him, fear stabs through his chest like a single tearing wound. Fatal and destructive and painful. It agonizes him so that his brain becomes frantic.

On one fateful, unsuspecting night, Hal's sight is suddenly stolen. It is vicious and only a flooding of dark where there used to be light, and there is nothing he can do to stop it. And without his vision, creating constructs and using them becomes impossible, so that he virtually becomes useless in his shocked, powerless state.

Then Hal is out cold, passed with a single hit, and after he is taken away to somewhere unknown.

He wakes up in a huge, empty room with no furnishings. It is well-lit even though no lights are visible, and beige walls seem to stretch on forever. There is only a border around the floor, with an intricate pattern. Hal stares at it for a few seconds and then blinks, realizing he is strapped to the wall by cuffs around his wrists and ankles. Thankfully, he's not trapped in some ridiculous position all spread out, but it's uncomfortable nevertheless. He strains against the cuffs. "These are unbreakable," he says out loud.

"No shit," a familiar voice says, and Hal looks up to his left to see Barry. He's overjoyed before realizing that they are both chained, and if Barry has been awake for longer and unable to escape...

He looks around the room for the first time. J'onn is out cold but Diana and Vic look back at him, expressions of relief on their faces. "I thought you were dead," Vic explains. 

"Hooray, I'm not," Hal sighs. The League has been trapped in this mysterious room, with mysterious energy, and seemingly no way to escape. Hal's ring is gone, but his sight is back, and while the ring should be on his finger by now it is clearly not. Barry's speed is useless, Cyborg can't reach help, Diana's strength seems sapped, and J'onn is unconscious.

"Wait." A sudden realization comes to mind. "The only people missing are..."

"Batman and Superman," Barry finishes, leaning his head back in defeat.

* * *

"Bruce, Damian, I'm sorry, I swear I wasn't questioning your loyalties, you're both members of the League and we probably couldn't have saved the world on several occasions without your help, it wasn't- it was just-" Superman wrings his hands- a sorry sight. His expression is guilt-ridden, shoulders a little hunched, and he looks a far cry from the confident superhero that villains usually run screaming from.

Robin makes his way towards the Manor, only glaring in annoyance. "Leave, alien. only Father and I are welcome here."

Batman drops silently out of the plane, feet hitting the ground softly and cape following heavily. "Go inside, Damian."

Damian opens his mouth, presumably to voice a sharp-witted retort, when he decides to think better of it and whirls around to stalk inside. He lets loose a string of quiet curses under his breath and Clark tries his best to ignore them, although there are a few nasty ones he hears that he has never even heard of. He turns back to Batman. "Bruce, I swear. I'm sorry it came off that way, but it wasn't what I was trying to say."

"It seemed clear what you were trying to say."

"No, it wasn't- I wanted- I was just-"

"What?"

"Hurt," Clark finishes lamely. "I was hurt."

An incredulous silence follows. The night air is humid and sticky, the quiet hum of crickets in the air. Behind them rises the vast Wayne Manor gardens, an intricate display of every floral color possible lined with topiary. Beautiful, and well-maintained. Clark wonders... why he's here. 

"What could you possibly be hurt about?"

"That you- that you didn't tell me. I thought we were friends, Bruce. You can trust me. I thought..." 

"Let me get this straight," Bruce takes off his cowl and a pair of piercing blue eyes stare back in the night. "Talia al Ghul came to attack with the League of Assassins to claim the al Ghul heir to the throne, Damian, who's also my protégée, and the entire League now knows the two are related, and you're hurt because I never told you this information in the first place."

Bruce walks away, towards his home. "Go home, Kent. Get some rest." 

Superman smiles, even as his sight grows blurry. He just has to know- "Are we... good?"

"For the record, yes, I forgive you," Bruce says, and then he shuts the door.

Superman collapses. 

He wakes up in a large room with a throbbing pain in his left side. Clark's vision is hazy, which is never a good sign for the Man of Steel, and he cannot break free of the constraints holding him back, which is another bad sign. "Great, now everyone's here," someone says mockingly to his side, and Clark looks up to Hal Jordan. He blinks and looks around.

"Oh shit," Superman mutters, right before passing out again.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce is so involved in a recent investigation concerning possible evidence of time travel that he spends most of the day peering down into a microscope, scrawling notes in a close hand, and occasionally conferring with Tim over comms on the recent increase of unexplained crimes committed by people with seeming memory loss. 

"It has to be Grodd." Bruce adjusts the lense of the machinery by a slight increase in magnification. The missing link in the molecular structure- it's evading him. And anyway- "Random civilians committing crimes and then having no memory of ever doing it? Telepathic consequences. I'd bet they were complaining of head pains afterwards."

"Agreed, yes, and yes," Tim says over the line. "Grodd it is. I'll contact Gorilla City immediately- Grodd might be planning an attack on them first, like last time."

"Yes, do that," Batman mutters almost absentmindedly as he peers closer into the scope. Is there something there, between the severed particles? He's not sure. 

"Sounds like you're having trouble with that," Tim adds. "Probably best to partner with Superman over it." He hangs up. 

Bruce lifts his head away and stares at the phone for a few seconds. How Tim knew what he was doing and how it was going is beyond his understanding, although he knows Tim has always had a special penchant for reading other people- even over the phone.

Tiredly, he pushes back the cowl and rubs at his eyes. Perhaps it would be best to contact Clark about this. With his sight and accuracy, the case could be sped up by hours, even days... and his sight was getting blurry anyway. Even the Batman needed sleep.

He gets to his feet and makes his way over to the computers. A small realization prods the back of his mind- that the day has been relatively quiet, and no other League members have contacted him once. Bruce switches on the monitor. "Signal Superman's comms."

 _Superman unavailable_ , the computer spits back. 

Bruce frowns. "Send message to Superman's comms, then."

Usually he would get a, _State_   _your message_ in reply, but this time, the response is undeniably alarming: _Superman unable to receive messages._

Batman realizes, with sudden clarity, that Superman is out of contact and has most likely been held captive or hurt. And since the rest of the League have been silent all day... Frantically, he tries three more members only to get the same results as Superman. They are all unavailable, meaning their comm devices were probably destroyed. 

He feels cold and calculating, thinking back to their last moments and predicting what exactly happened. What steps led to this outcome, and the possible solutions. Except this time, unexpectedly, a feeling of concern is discernible within the logic. It attacks his mind fiercly and mercilessly, making him wonder how he was involved and what he could have done differently to prevent this, and whether Clark is okay or not...

Probably not. Which was why he needed to focus. 

Bruce calls his son again. "Tim," he growls into the phone, and Red Robin says, "What's wrong?" immediately. Special penchant for reading people.

"The League has been compromised. I can't say for sure who, but I have a good idea, and I need you to call everyone else and inform them. We need everyone alert." With that, he makes to hang up, but Tim stops him.

"Who is it?" Suspicion creeps into his voice.

Bruce decides that keeping it a secret will be useless in the long run. "Ra's," he answers, "Ra's al Ghul."

He hangs up. 

* * *

"Bruce is pretty sure that it's Ra's al Ghul," Red Robin grabs his mask, looking around for possible weaponry. "Which means Damian might be the target."

"Which means the hell spawn shouldn't come," Jason looks up briefly from polishing his guns, "To put us all in even more danger."

"If I am not allowed accompaniment," Damian says clearly, "I will inform Father of this clandestine mission, and then I will proceed to enter the house of al Ghul anyway."

"He's coming," Dick says. "This is kind of his fight. And you heard him- we can't stop him."

"And won't you need him to navigate the place, since he knows his way around it?" Babs, always the voice of reason, inquires while already knowing the answer. Realization dawns on the four other boys' faces. Damian looks triumphant. 

"There," he declares, "You need me."

"Like fire needs gasoline," Red Hood mutters from beneath the mask. 

"Let's go, then," Dick rises, in costume. "Kick some ninja asses. And remember, not a word of this to Bruce."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates will be slow right now because i'm currently travelling


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to every reader for their patience

Damian Wayne feels like a traitor.

While his siblings all regard the al Ghul palace as just another enemy's nest to be raided, an evil lair not worth their time with festering villains and strange demonic origins,  _he_ still feels a pang of familiarity between the walls he grew up in. The bare rooms he was basically tortured in to learn, or rather, force, lessons on him. Damian remembers standing in agonizing positions for hours on end, fighting nonstop, being deprived of sleep and food and water, and lone journeys through the writhing oceans or scorching deserts or icy mountains outside of the palace. 

He remembers it all. It's not so easy to forget. His imprints are buried beneath these simple fiber mats, between every thick wheat strand. And he almost forgets himself, lost in the flood of so many familiarities, until a familiar voice asks, "You okay?"

Damian turns to see Tim. He has to admit that out of the whole bunch, Drake is the most tolerable. He's quiet but sharp, seemingly an innocent boy until he defeats enemies with a single swipe of his bo staff. 

"Fine, Drake." Damian pushes his chin up in his usual arrogant posture, and crouches back down into a fighting stance. Everyone moves silently and swiftly, as they have been taught, except Jason, who strolls casually along. 

"What are we even looking for? Where are all the bad guys?" Red Hood mocks confusion and looks around. "I came here to kick some ass."

"If you keep making yourself so conspicuous you're going to get your own ass kicked," Batgirl shoots him a dirty look from her corner. Damian rolls his eyes and stamps his foot in frustration. "Fools!" he hisses in the loudest voice he can manage while still being relatively quiet, "We are most likely being watched right this moment. Grandfather would never let intruders so carelessly enter his home. The only reason we are not being attacked is because he has a bigger plan, one he is waiting and watching for."

A moment's pause. Then- "He's probably right," Tim shrugs. Barbara nods her agreement.

"Wait a second." Dick is staring intently at the ground near Damian's feet. "Robin, stamp your foot again."

"What?"

"Just do it," he says, and Damian complies. Immediately, it becomes clear that the sound his foot makes isn't what it's supposed to sound like on a normal floor. It echoes, as if the space below is hollow, or the floor is a fake... Everybody stares at the ground in confusion, until Jason steps forward and literally punches through the floor. Beneath the floor, through the newly made hole, is another hidden room.

"God, Jason," Babs sighs.

"What? I secured this fucking discovery, thank you. Now we can bust through and see what the al Ghuls have their panties in a twist about."

"Wait," says Dick, and he bends down to peer through the hole, presumably the ceiling of the room beneath them. "I don't see anything, just a big room. You think it's booby-trapped? Or there's a bunch of invisible warriors waiting down there to attack?"

"Probably," Jason shrugs. And then he leaps into the air and lands to punch through the floor, sailing down below and out of sight.

"Imbecile," Damian mutters, as the others stare in part exasperation and part horror, before following his older brother through the hole.

In the room, Hal Jordan has given up fighting his restraints and stares dejectedly at the wall, mind thinking up half-formed plans and conclusions, when there's a small thump from the ceiling. Every League member snaps to attention, and Diana and Clark, who had been previously arguing about which course of action to take, stop abruptly as silence falls over them. Is this a visiting enemy, or someone to rescue them?

"Ten bucks it's Bruce," Hal jokes weakly, before the thump comes again, and soon afterwards a small hole appears in the ceiling. They can't really see through the hole, but there's no need to because pretty soon someone crashes through the wall and lands gracefully on their feet. It's Red Hood, two guns attached to either hip and eyes narrowed through the mask, collar of his leather jacket brushing his jaw. "Close enough. Hey, uh, Red Hood, we're super glad you're here. Care to let us-"

"There's nothing fucking here," Jason yells towards the ceiling. 

Was this a joke? Hal turns, and the rest of the League seems as taken aback as him. J'onn says, "We must be affected by some kind of limbo or technology that renders us invisible to others. There is no other explanation."

"Jason?" It's Superman, voice surprisingly soft but firm even when weak from the Kryptonite. It occurs to Hal, suddenly, that Clark may know Jason on a more personal level. 

There's no response. 

"Seriously?" Another voice comes faintly from up above, and Jason replies, "Yeah, I'm serious. It's completely empty. No booby-traps, even."

Then the rest of the group comes through. Nightwing, eskrima sticks in hand, landing on two feet like Jason; Red Robin flipping to a swift stop while twirling his staff; the redhead, Batgirl, leaping lightly with a flutter of her cape, hair blazing; and finally, the ever-defiant Damian Wayne positioning himself in the front of it all, like a leader, or cannon-fodder. Most likely leader. 

They all know their places and positions, perfectly coordinated as if they've done this a thousand times before. They probably have. Every one of them have the familiar bat insignia scrawled across their chests, save for Damian, who wears the Robin's R as if there was no one else ever made for it. Robin stares fiercely, right at the space where the League is but seemingly empty to him. He says, "This is most peculiar. Grandfather is deceiving us, I know it. Though I do not know how, or why..."

"Christ," says Clark, then to himself, "Where's Bruce?" And he leans his head back against the wall, exhausted, exposing the white of his neck. 

"The whole Bat family is here," Hal can almost laugh. An entire group of trained, skilled, intelligent warriors, capable of things no people their age could even dream of, but they're all entirely useless right now. They can't see the people they need to save. "Spread out and search for clues," Nightwing tells them, but at that moment a large rumble resounds through the room. 

And Damian's comms crackle audibly.  _"Where are you?"_ A familiar rasp of a voice, angry and demanding, is heard.  _"Damian, where are you?"_

"Shit. He knows," Dick hisses, and swipes the device away. "Bruce, we're here. We're in the al Ghul palace. I'm sorry, you can yell at us all later, but there are some things you need to know. There are rooms beneath the building, and they look empty but they might not be- we're not sure-"

"And Grandfather is planning something bigger," Damian takes it back, "We have not been attacked once by the League of Assassins, and danger is nowhere in sight." Another rumble. "Although it may, perhaps, be coming now."

There is a moment of silence.  _"Can you wait?"_ 'For me', is the omitted phrase. Can you wait for me? A world of concern and rescue, in those three words, neatly placed as an inquisition.

"Hurry," Dick says simply, and switches it off. He turns around as Assassins flood the room through the ceiling, the walls, until it feels like they are drowning in sharp blades and heavy blows, all as sudden as a thunderstorm and just as intense. 


	5. Chapter 5

The near silent flutter of the ebony cape, flipping behind him, as he lands with a single roll over his head to the balls of his feet. He slowly stands, into a slight crouch.

Batman stands tall, alone, in the empty room. And he is absolutely sure Ra's al Ghul is unfolding his bigger plan piece by piece, because he's unable to reach any of his children. And right now, Talia al Ghul stands on the other side of it. 

They face each other. Unyielding. Fierce. But there is a knowing look in her eyes, and all Bruce feels is dread.

* * *

Clark doesn't wish his injuries gone or kryptonite to melt. He only wishes that Bruce could see him, and he could see Bruce's icy eyes, and send a reassurance that echoed every fiber of his being. 

He wishes he could reach out and touch him.

He can't.

He can only watch.

* * *

 

"I knew," starts Talia, "from the second we met, that you underestimated me." 

A surge of old anger rises up inside Bruce, and it's uncontrollable, a wildfire that catches onto every dry string of his heart. "Can you blame me? You weren't ever anything out of the ordinary, after all."

They're still the same distance apart in that room, but they eye each other like cats about to pounce. The tension is choking. 

"If I'm not anything out of the ordinary," she says, "how did I rape you? And so easily at that? The great Batman, the only Bruce Wayne, tricked by someone so ordinary. 


	6. Chapter 6

Damian is pulled from darkness slowly and agonizingly, like a bee sting being extracted from skin. His head pounds and his mouth is dry, but the worst part is he can't really remember passing out. The last memory he possesses is of he and his siblings fighting like a well-oiled machine, weaving through each other and making their way through waves and waves of Assassins...

"Damian." A voice says simply from above, and the boy looks up into the face of his Grandfather. The movement stirs more pain, but he grits his teeth and ignores it. "It is only a concussion. Nothing serious."

Robin gets to his feet in a flash, dizzy. "Why have you brought me here? Where is- Where..."

"Do not overexert yourself, grandson," Ra's leers. "Those rats you call your friends are perfectly safe." He waves a hand, and Jason, Dick, Tim, and Barbara all appear unconscious and shackled to the wall, lined up next to each other in terrifying order.혻

Damian steps back. "What kind of alien technology-"

Ra's makes a disapproving noise; a sort of tsk-tsk sound. "Now, Damian, not technology. It is merely magic, crafted finely by my own hands and of well use."

Ra's al Ghul with magic? I must tell Father, Damian thinks, but when his Grandfather laughs he knows he's said that out loud. "That will be of no help," the old man sneers, "Your Father is... occupied, at the moment, let us say. But my grandson, you are here simply because I have a proposition for you."

Robin surveys his surroundings. There seems to be no available doors or escapes, but it must just be hidden... or maybe the use of magic has rendered the room obsolete, and if he escapes he will drown into nothingness... the possibilities are endless. There's no time to think.

"What," he asks, seething, "is your proposition?"

"Ah, a good listener as always." Ra's sits down cross-legged on the floor, as if they were having casual tea and Damian isn't staring into the faces of his siblings nearing death. "Stay with me and your mother, Damian, in my al Ghul palace, until you can take my place. In return, I will let your friends" -he stares distastefully at them- "and your father live, and return freely to their homes."

Damian is quiet and furious. "You think they will not come for me?"

"They will not," says Ra's, "Because I will make them all forget." He pauses to let it sink in. "I have very powerful magic, boy, and it is right on my fingertips."

Damian Wayne hears the fate of this. Father and Jason and Dick and Tim and Barbara and everyone else he knows would escape and live the rest of their lives while he remained here, forever, forgotten. It was quite the plan. And yet... "You bluff. Magic can be powerful indeed but you are no sorcerer. You cannot reach into the minds of everybody in the world and erase their individual memories, of me, about me, somehow leading to me. It is impossible."

"You are thinking of it too largely. I am not reaching into individual minds... I am merely erasing the existence of one lone boy, except in your physicality, of course." 

Damian is silent. Then- "You have no honor." 

"There is great honor in outwitting the enemy."

"I am your grandson; I am your enemy. You render my family helpless and confine me to the chains of this prison. But you pry my strengths as weaknesses, my compassion as softness, and you choose me to make a choice that will ruin me." 

He reaches out and turns his palms face up. A show of submission. "I will be ruined, then, for the ones I love."


End file.
